


of flowers and fawning

by Jpe (Anamika)



Category: Pocket Monsters: X & Y | Pokemon X & Y Versions
Genre: M/M, all fluff here, more older writing ahoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-24 14:30:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8375713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anamika/pseuds/Jpe
Summary: It’s always, always the same- on Tuesday of every week, Professor Sycamore finds a bouquet waiting at the lab with his name on it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> the short unfinished furapura fics in my google drive won't stop coming back to me until i put them to rest
> 
> (i will eternally love that the jpn ship name for them is furapura)

To say Augustine Sycamore was popular would be an understatement.

It was almost as ridiculous a statement as _Wailords are kinda big_ or _Cafe Soleil’s pain au chocolat tastes alright._ Pokemon Professor Augustine Sycamore, heartthrob of the Kalos region and one of the leading researchers in his field, certainly got more (much, much more) than his fair share of attention, both scientific and romantic alike.

Which was why he’d come to never bat an eye at the dozens of gifts that would pile up at the lab’s front desk; Sophie would give him a look getting more exasperated with every haul, and he could do little but chuckle apologetically and sheepishly ask her to please, if she wouldn’t mind, help him out. She’d sigh and turn away, shaking her head like a mother that’d given up on scolding her child, and slide the mountains of gifts unceremoniously into a large trash bag. Although they both knew she never minded anymore and was just acting the part for Augustine’s sake, he would always make a note to himself to buy her an extra latte at break, maybe pick up some of those little creme-filled cakes she had a weakness for too.

When one received as much flowers, sweets, anonymous letters declaring love or intense admiration, or whatever thing the sender thought would show him just how highly they thought of him (he hoped to one day meet the person who’d left a singing mounted plastic Feebas), the gifts all tended to blur together in his mind–Except, of course, a certain bouquet.

Tuesday would roll in and bring with it a bundle of fresh yellow Irises every time, tied together neatly with a ribbon that matched his own signature blue shirt. He hadn’t thought much of them at first besides the initial response of “How lovely!” and a stroke of their petals, but now they were practically the highlight of his day. There was never anything sent with them, no card or love letter or sleeping Flabebe nestled in the blooms, but he found he was happy to have the flowers alone. There was something about the yellow that made the whole room seem brighter, and to think that someone was devoted enough to never miss delivering them? Oh! His heart raced just thinking about it!

Today was a special Tuesday once again. Augustine had gotten so caught up in arranging, rearranging, shifting the flowers to sniff lightly, moving them again and again and again, that he had nearly forgotten there was a man tapping his foot on the other end of the Holo Caster call until a deep voice sliced through his thoughts.

“Professor, please pick a placement and be done with it. You’ll wear those poor flowers bare at this rate.”

“Bien sûr! Right!” He gave one last nudge to the irises and finally lowered them into their vase before turning back to the miniature version of his redheaded friend. “It would be a shame to stress them too much, wouldn’t it? Especially since I’d have to think of something else to talk about to keep you on the line.” His usual grin was plastered on his face as he leaned forward toward the projection, resting his elbows on the desk and his chin in one hand.

“So I find out why you called at last.” Lysandre quirked a brow. “What is it about the flowers? Another admirer?”

“Not just any, Lys. They’re from someone after your own heart!” A snort was the only reply he got, so he took it as his cue to continue on. “Punctual. Consistent. That sort of thing, like you’re always on about.”

“I’m only ‘always on about it’ in hopes that you might learn a thing or two.” There was no real admonishment in Lysandre’s voice, just the wry, teasing tone that had come to be familiar between them. Augustine pretended not to hear him anyway.

“It’s almost extraordinary. Without fail, on the same day of every week, bam! They make their move!” He glanced to the ribbon the bouquet had been tied with, now lying on his desk. “Well, a move, anyway. There’s never been anything but flowers so far.” Said ribbon was silkily soft in Augustine’s fingers as he picked it up, a moment’s pause breaking his rambling. “It’s all well and good, but it might be nice for them to leave a little… More, you know?”

“And what would you have them give, Professor?” Augustine, still staring at the ribbon, considered Lysandre’s question for a moment; he did have more than enough gifts left for him as it was, so what was he hoping for? A name? An explanation for their diligence? “Anything, maybe? Something to know it’s not just Sophie and the others being sneaky about showing their appreciation would be a good start. Letters, pastries, wine samplers…” His lips curled up in a mischievous grin. “Fancy lingerie doesn’t sound all too bad, either-”

Lysandre cut him off with a shake of his head and a raised hand. “For both our sakes, I’m afraid I must stop your train of thought there. I’m sure it’s doing your mystery florist a favor as well.”

Augustine’s laugh was rich. “Don’t be so prudish, now! What’s a little risqué conversation between friends?”

“With you? Quite dangerous, I’ve learned.”

“Lysandre, you wound me!” His need for dramatics had not died down in the slightest since he had last checked (read: let it take over and nearly cost him his good social reputation). A hand, clutched desperately to his heart as if actually, physically injured; the other, placed just so against his head to make the pitiful look of fake hurt on his face even more so.

Just as much as Augustine was an actor, Lysandre seemed to be equally invincible to his charades. How did he manage to make his voice sound like the vocal equivalent of rolling his eyes? “My deepest apologies for the offense then. Unfortunately, my work demands my attention now, and I don’t have the time to shower you in compliments until your ego’s healed. Would lunch tomorrow be enough to make it up to you?”

Augustine could admit defeat (especially when free lunch was on the table), and his hands clasped together once more against the chest buzzing with pleased humming. “You know me and my weaknesses far too well, mon ami.”

 _Of course,_ the look in Lysandre’s eyes might’ve said if he’d focused on them (which he most definitely did not, and certainly wasn’t in the habit of doing. Don’t be ridiculous.) _You only mention your soft spots twenty times in any given conversation, and you know how well I can pay attention._

“Twelve-thirty, my cafe. Au revoir, Professor.”

“Good luck with your work!” Augustine waved cheerily to the tiny projection, keeping the motion going for a few seconds longer after the blue hologram had folded out of sight. It was with a light heart that he slipped the Holo Caster absentmindedly into one of his lab coat’s pockets and tucked a fresh iris into the other.  
———————–  
By the time change reared its head enough weeks had passed that Augustine had completely forgotten about any conversation he might’ve had with Lysandre about his regular gift.

His first thought upon spotting the edge of what couldn’t be anything other than a small envelope hidden deep in the stalks was _Mon Dieu the aides have started pranking season early._

That made it even more surprising -and sweeter, he couldn’t forget sweeter- when tearing open the envelope with some hesitance left him staring, dumbstruck, at none other than a poem.

_“Eyes as gray as storm, as deep a hue as silver,_  
_Smile shining more radiant than golden flowers or the sun’s warm rays._  
_Nothing on earth nor in the Heavens above could compare_  
_To the personal atmosphere of Augustine.”_

Augustine read the poem once. He read it twice. He read it a third time. And a fourth.

No matter how many times his eyes went back over the words he had a hard time believing they were there. Again, again, and again. The golden print didn’t disappear to wherever daydreams went, and tearing one corner off only confirmed that, indeed, the paper was real.

The dance had changed, it seemed. Now the flowers sang to him the lovely words of every new poem they carried with them. Augustine drank up every drop of it. He carefully taped them up on his wall like a collage, memorizing the tiny ballads until he could say them back to himself word-for-word in his sleep. Which, according to Sophie, wasn’t just a metaphor anymore. He jotted down a reminder to be less conspicuous about falling asleep at the lab.

Sophie had become the other victim to his gushing. But her patience obviously couldn’t hold a candle to Lysandre’s, meaning the familiar head-tilt of her signature “I’m-really-trying-here-but-my-limits-are-starting-to-be-tested-and-you-know-I-don’t-get-paid-enough-for-this” look came out sooner than the redhead would ever start to show he was getting worn down.

Before Augustine could get out another adoring word about the writing Sophie cut him off.  
“If you’re so interested, why don’t you ask to meet them?”

The way she said it made it sound like an obvious answer to a question that never had been asked. Augustine had to halt and stare blankly at the scientist currently cleaning her glasses with a cloth from her pocket as if she’d never said anything at all. But her green eyes flickered back up and eyebrows raised, looking right back at the professor and very clearly waiting for some kind of response.

“You want… I should ask… Meet them?” It had never once occurred to him that he actually could respond to the stranger- leaving a note at the door for when they arrived would probably be enough. “Can I do that?”

Sighing, Sophie pushed herself up off of the wooden chair and slid her frames back on her face. “You can do whatever you want, Professor. No one’s stopping you.” Her next words were light, though, coming precariously close to innocent teasing. “I would definitely recommend you take some action, though.”

Then she was gone, the elevator door sliding shut behind her, leaving Augustine to dizzily contemplate the new perspective she’d given him.

And contemplate he did.

 _Sophie really is a genius_ was all he could think when it started fully sinking in that he did, after all, have a stupidly obvious way of making sure the connection was one-sided no longer. He could barely contain the excitement that rushed to his hands (making them jitter enough to just about knock over the steaming hot coffee Sophie had left behind and come within an inch of ruining both his mood and pants) as ideas of what to say, what to ask, what ways he could convince the anonymous gifter to come out of hiding flooded his mind and itched to be written out.

More than a few wild blobs of ink and ruined pieces of notebook paper scraps snatched from field notes later and Augustine had what could be called a letter before him. Sure, it wasn’t the most eloquent thing he’d ever written and his assistants were sure to not let him forget that this was his _chance_ , he had to make the _best of it,_ but Augustine had found he himself preferred hurried notes written out of bursts of wild passion over long messages hours of stress and tension had been put into. They’d understand that, wouldn’t they? Anyone so interested in him had to, at least a little.

He could hear it now- a memory from weeks ago coming back unbidden, deep voice reverberating through his mind, conjuring up the sensation of warm red, good company, and thoughtful conversation.

“ _Worth is found in more than just the superficial, and those that value it can see that._ ”

When Tuesday rolled around again and he dove into the flowers looking for a response he pretended he hadn’t spent the past week caught up in the thought of red hair and sharp blue eyes.  
———————–

“Professor, I haven’t understood a single sound that’s left your mouth since you stepped foot in here, and unless you calm down and take a breath that won’t change.”

“I don’t need to talk, just look at this!” It was with much more force than he meant and no uncertain amount of protest from the shifting Lysandre that Augustine shoved the small card in his companion’s face.

Lysandre clearly had a response ready to refute his comment about talking, yet it went unspoken in favor of gingerly accepting the scrap of paper. Sweet time was taken reading it, much to Augustine’s dismay, and it was only after it felt like an eternity had gone by that Lysandre handed back the card.

“You have a date?”

“Yes, _yes!_ Not any date, though. It’s-!” It was what? Wondrous? Thrilling? Worth (nearly) all the thoughts in his head and even more of his time? The promise of something great? “It’s special!”

Lysandre’s face was deadpan. “Special.”

Augustine gave in to flopping down on the soft booth seat. “Don’t tell me you were only _pretending_ to listen me talk about my mystery flowers those- what, twenty times I did exactly that?”

“Twenty-five.” Today was one of those days Lysandre seemed particularly fond of his dry humor, it seemed. Augustine didn’t need X-ray vision to know behind the mug raised to his lips was the makings of what passed for a smirk. “And no, I did not ignore you. You are…”

There was no preparing for the level eye contact or the sudden flash of intensity that went along with it. Augustine felt it was really quite reasonable of his knees to go a little weak, and the few beats his heart missed were forgivable.

The moment passed as quickly as it came. “...Not one to go unnoticed.” Lysandre finished, setting his coffee down.

“I- Thank you?” Was his throat dry? Oh, it was. Was it the coffee? It must have been. He’d guzzled down enough cups that the constant buzz of enthusiasm was only partly his upcoming rendezvous’ fault. Sending even more down the hatch to hide his fluster probably wasn’t the best idea, but Augustine’s sense of reason had already clocked out for the day the second Lysandre had beckoned him over with a smile when he walked into the cafe.

“It is a compliment.” Either resigned to his fate or satisfied that Augustine could make a fool out of himself without his help, thank you, Lysandre settled back into the red cushion. “Let me guess- you want your nerves soothed.”

“...If you don’t mind?”

“Of course not.”  
———————–

Never before had a simple Monday had enough power to make Augustine almost wish to bail and retreat back to the safe haven that was his twin loves, science and work. No, that was a lie; he winced at the memory of a particularly rambunctious set of trainers getting their starters. He still had the bite marks to commemorate _that_ fun morning.

At least he wouldn’t have to worry about getting bitten tonight. Or maybe he would! For all he knew things could go either way, considering it’d been eight minutes exactly since he’d arrived and he was still standing on the sidewalk before Restaurant Le Wow like some lost Furfrou.

Oh, he was getting too old for this. This nervousness was what his dating days had been for, not the opportunity to finally meet a secret admirer and.... Talk! Thank them! Become friends! Something!

Resolve steeled, he strode in with the confidence of someone who was both stylish enough to eat there and knew exactly what they were doing- in other words, two things he was not. The matron immediately seemed to recognize him, because he couldn’t get a single word out before she had a waitress beside her motioning for him to follow.

It was now or never.

A deep breath for luck, he told himself. He fell into step behind the waitress, looking around curiously for the sign of his date- _A yellow iris,_ the note had said, and he hadn’t been the least bit surprised.

He probably should’ve been concerned about the… almost secluded area (obviously meant for more private dining) he was led to. He would’ve, certainly, if all his brain’s functions hadn’t immediately devoted themselves to a too-familiar subject.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

Augustine was sure he looked silly, grinning away like a Purrloin as he slid into the ornate chair. He couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Imagine that.” His date turned to face him in full, expression mirrored on his own sharp features. Sure enough, there in his breast pocket was tucked the fateful flower.

 _Yellow iris, for passion_ \- a voice offered in the back of Augustine’s mind

“You know,” He started, slyly swirling the deep red wine in his glass. “You can be awfully sappy sometimes. I thought you were a fan of the direct approach?”

“...Perhaps I am.”

Lysandre leaned forward. Augustine relinquished his glass, fingers soon too busy being clasped tightly in the other man’s own hand and having soft pecks pressed against them to hold it without making a mess neither of them would appreciate.

“You wouldn’t have enjoyed that as much, would you, Augustine?” Lysandre murmured between kisses.

Augustine laughed, giddiness flooding his senses. “You do know me well, Lysandre.”  
———————–

The bouquets didn’t stop, but instead brought with them a gift sweeter than their scent. Augustine could go into Tuesdays knowing he’d soon have an armful of flowers and their deliverer both, be given a tender look and soft well wishes for his day. The assistants could roll their eyes and gag all he wanted, he thought as he stood on tiptoe and leaned forward. He was never letting go of this present.

**Author's Note:**

> if you take one thing away from this fic please let it be sycamore having one of those singing fish in his office


End file.
